


Circumstance (or how Jim Kirk found his family)

by Myserie



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: AU, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Getting Together, M/M, Pike is a Dad (tm), The Pike in this is more Discovery’s Pike than AOS’s Pike fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-20 23:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myserie/pseuds/Myserie
Summary: Chris had always thought his relationship with his CMO was unique to Starfleet. Phil told him he was a complete idiot.Of course, Phil was right.(Set in an AU where the events of Star Trek ’09 did not happen due to the Klingons killing Nero and his crew before they had a chance to escape and attack Vulcan)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is lot of fun to write and I love talking Star Trek and Chril/Mckirk and about Discovery. If you want to chat my Discord is Myserie#1483 and I'm almost always online!

Christopher J. Pike met Philip H. Boyce on his first day at the Academy when he got sucker punched by his new roommate for flirting with the guy’s girlfriend.  


Phil was a Lieutenant, working the trauma room at the hospital when Chris stumbled in covered in blood and clutching his nose. Back then the doctor was tall and lean with thick black hair and wicked blue eyes, he had laughed when Chris had tried to embellish the tale of his shattered nose, smacked him on the back of the head none too gently and told him to stop being a brat and tell the truth.  


He did tell the truth, but so far he hadn’t stopped being a brat.  


A week later his roommate gave him a concussion and he was back in the trauma centre, to this day he can’t remember what happened, but at the end of his observation Phil was hauling him into a reasonable two bedroom apartment and shoving him into an obviously unused spare bedroom.  


Three days later his stuff was decorating that spare bedroom, and he and Phil became what his colleagues would later describe as “complete morons” and “idiots who took forever to admit they were practically dating”.  


Phil didn’t so much as look at him in anything more that a) absolute disgust at his eating habits, b) mockingly, and c) deep concern when he was having one of his “My overachieving ass is not doing as well as I think I should so obviously I’m useless and will never succeed in life” episodes until after graduation, when Phil shoved him against the door of their apartment after the ceremony and fucked him so hard and so good he felt his bones leak out of his ears, and looked at him like his grandma used to look at his grandpa; with complete and utter exhaustion but full of love all the same.  


The rest is history, of course. They got married, had a kid (Simon, his absolute pride and joy, and Archer’s excuse to buy them a house), and then Starfleet offered him a deal. Ten years on earth playing recruiter and adviser, and they’d give him _their_ pride and joy.   


_USS Enterprise_   


And really? Who would say no to that?  


He kept telling himself that as Jim Kirk was unceremoniously dragged into his office by his ear by a furious Commander Affe, who was pink with rage and practically foaming at the mouth as she ranted at him in her home language.  


Chris didn’t know a lot of Dzaan, but he knew enough that the kind of language spilling from her lips was quite unbecoming of an officer.  


“Tell me what he did,” Chris said when she paused to breathe. “In standard, Commander.”  


_Please don’t tell me he fucked up another housing arrangement,_ Chris pleaded mentally.   


“I found him in my daughter’s bed.”  


_Fuck._   


Given Kirk’s late enrolment, lack of any kind of money that didn’t go towards tuition and his criminal record, he hadn’t been granted a dorm room at the Academy and needed to live off campus. Chris had called in a lot of favours, asking friends to allow the ungrateful brat to stay with them, but every time he fucked up.  


Chris was running out of friends.  


“Leave him here,” he said. “I’ll come by this afternoon to collect his things.”  


Affe let go of Kirk’s ear and stormed out of his office. Kirk stared at him, jaw set and eyes hard as concrete.

“ _Why_ ?” Was all Chris could say.   


“She was cute,” Kirk shrugged. “Affe just freaked out.”  


“Dzaan mate for life, Cadet,” Chris snapped, leaning back in his chair. “You were marrying her daughter without her consent.”  


Kirk paled. “Oh,” he said quietly.  


Chris sighed and opened his terminal, mentally going through the list of friends who lived close enough to campus, who didn’t have children and were in Starfleet.  


_Nada_ .   


“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re dismissed, Cadet. Be back here after your final class so I can take you to your new housing.”  


“Where am I going now?” Kirk almost sounded like he was _whining_ .   


_If you weren’t possibly the brightest little shit Starfleet has seen in a century I’d beat your ass so hard…_   


“Dismissed, Cadet,” He said forcefully.  


Kirk slinked out of his office, and he mentally went over the list again, seeing if he had missed someone.  


He hadn’t.  


He glanced at the time and remembered Phil was on his lunch break around now, so he pulled out his communicator and called him.  


_“Boyce.”_   


“It’s me,”  was all Chris said, too frustrated to flirt at the moment. He cursed Kirk again, he _loved_ flirting.   


_“Uh oh, that sounds like a_ Jim Kirk _conversation.”_  


“It is,” Chris sighed. “Affe kicked him out. The kid almost slept with her daughter.”  


_“Did he know that sex is equal to unbreakable marriage in Dzaan culture?”_   


“No.”  


_“Chris, he’s a dumbass.”_   


“I know,” Chris rubbed his temple, feeling a Jim Kirk shaped headache begin to form in his brain. “Why are smart people so fucking stupid?”  


_“Christopher I’ve been asking that since you walked into my emergency room.”_   


“I’m not _that_ stupid!” Chris insisted. “I didn’t even mean to flirt with his girlfriend!”   


_“I’m talking about the last twenty years of_ me _keeping_ you _from getting yourself killed, despite your best efforts to leave me widowed.”_   


Chris didn’t think that was very fair, his job was dangerous and often he couldn’t control what happened on an away mission.  


He didn’t tell Phil this, though, because Phil would find some way to smack him through the comm.

 

“We’ve run out of friends I can pawn him off to,” he said instead. “I can’t let him sleep in my office for the next eight months.”  


_“He doesn’t have any friends?”_   


“Not that he’s told me,” Chris glanced at the photo frame on his desk. It was taken the day Chris started his job as a recruiter, outside their home near the academy. He and Phil were standing side by side, Phil’s arm over his shoulders, and Simon in front of them. He and Simon had the same smile, dimples and all, but everything else was definitely Phil. Right down to the glint in those big cobalt eyes.  


“He could stay with us,” Chris said before he could even form the thought. “Until I find someone willing to take him in.”  


Phil was quiet for a long time, and Chris almost thought he’d hung up, when finally his husband replied.  


_“If he tries to accidentally marry Simon I’m breaking my Hippocratic Oath.”_   


Chris laughed. “Thank you,” He said. “I love you.”  


_“I love you too, Chris.”_   


-  


Jim Kirk strutted back into his office a good half an hour after his last class ended, but withered considerably at the look Chris gave him.  


“Where am I staying?” Kirk asked.  


Chris picked up the bag Affe had delivered earlier that afternoon and shoved it into Kirk’s chest as he walked past the cadet. Kirk followed, uncharacteristically silent as he got into the passenger seat of Chris’ flitter.  


“It’s not Beckett, is it?” Kirk asked. “He smells like old socks.”  


“For the moment you’ll be staying in my spare room,” Chris explained as he pulled out of his parking space. “It’s only temporary, Cadet.”  


“Alright,” Kirk replied. “At least it’s better than a couch.”  


“Affe had you sleeping on her couch?” Affe had told him she had a spare bed in her basement.  


“Altmanne and Verce too,” Kirk said.  


Chris filed that information away to deal with later, focusing on driving. He normally left before the major afternoon traffic but now they were likely going to get stuck for a good while if he didn’t watch out.  


Twenty minutes later, almost double the time it normally took him to get home, he parked on his driveway.  


Archer had spared no expense when he bought and refurbished it, three stories, not counting the basement (which they were slowly converting into a separate living space for Phil’s parents after they retire), open plan kitchen and dining with a separate lounge area on the first floor, the second floor had three bedrooms, one was Simon’s, another had been converted into Phil’s office, leaving the last bedroom as a spare. The main bathroom was there as well and their media room. The attic was actually the master bedroom, with a full en-suite bathroom and walk in wardrobe that Chris remembered _balking_ at when he first saw it, he’d grown up sharing a room with three brothers and a bathroom with four sisters and his parents and grandparents.   


“Wow,” Kirk breathed.  


Chris almost laughed, locking the flitter and climbing the cobbled steps up to the front door.  


As soon as he opened the door he could smell Phil’s famous spaghetti and groaned as he made a beeline for the kitchen.  


In nearly twenty years Phil hadn’t changed, aside from his bright silver hair and the lines around his eyes. He was out of his work clothes, obviously having been home for a while, and was standing at the stove in old jeans and a t shirt that hugged him in all the right ways.  


“You’re late,” Phil said in greeting.  


“Kirk was late,” Chris corrected, and tugged the older man closer by his belt loops. Their foreheads touched first and Phil kissed him, first on the nose, then on the cheek and finally they kissed proper. Even after all these years, it sent a thrill down his spine as he was reminded that this brilliant man was his, _all_ his.   


“So is this standard for Starship captains or…” Kirk said as he stepped into the kitchen.  


Chris didn’t feel like explaining how they got the house. “Phil’s a doctor,” He said instead. “Phil, meet Cadet Jim Kirk. Cadet, this is my husband, Commander Philip Boyce. He’ll be my CMO next time we head up to the black.”  


Phil reached around Chris and shook Kirk’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, and Chris dug his elbow into Phil’s ribcage subtly. “And don’t worry, I already looked into your allergy list.”  


Chris didn’t say anything about how Phil was one of the physicians who treated those who survived Tarsus IV. He pulled away from Phil, grabbing Kirk’s arm as he lead the cadet upstairs, Simon’s door was shut, so he left Kirk to unpack as he went back downstairs.  


“Where’s Simon?” He asked as he leaned against the kitchen island.  


Phil looked up from stirring the pasta for a moment. “He was going to walk home with Nicky after practice,” he said. “Since we never let him go anywhere by themselves.”  


“They’re _twelve_ ,” Chris scoffed.   


Nicky Budd lived four doors down and was Simon’s age, the son of two lawyers who worked in competing high end firms in the city. They had met while Chris was off on the recruiting circuit, and while Phil has assured him that it wasn’t destined to last, it had been almost seven months and there was no sign of the two drifting apart.  


Chris also made sure Phil knew he didn’t approve of their friendship in any way.  


“Practice for what?” He asked after a moment. “Simon hates sport.”  


It was his father’s greatest heartbreak that his oldest grandson despised all forms of sports.  


Phil began adding more spices to the sauce and a cup of beef broth. “Soccer, Nicky’s the team captain. Also I need you to take Simon to the match on Saturday.”

 

“I can’t,” Chris said.  


 

“Why?”  


“I don’t want to watch other people’s children kick a ball around a field for two hours,” he said, decidedly _not_ pouting.   


Phil rolled his eyes as the front door opened and shut, and Chris turned in time for Simon’s arms to wrap around his middle.  


“Hi Dad!” Simon exclaimed, then ran around the bench to hug Phil with a “hallo Papa!” before he disappeared upstairs with his massive book bag.  


There was a distinct _thunk_ as the book bag was dropped on the floor of his bedroom, and Chris looked at Phil. “I think he was assigned another reading list,” Phil said in a matter of fact tone.   


“We have explained he doesn’t have to read every book on the list, right?” Chris asked.

 

“Unfortunately, like his father, he’s a bit of an overachiever,” Phil was smiling, though. If there was one person in the universe who loved that boy more than Chris, it would only be Phil.  


-

Along the halls of Pike’s house, there were framed photos like the ones Jim had seen in movies about functional families where the dad didn’t die in hellfire. A lot of them were photos from childhood, both he and Commander Boyce as children. Pike came from a family somewhere in a desert, if the dusty surroundings were anything to go by, and came from a big family, obviously poor. Boyce was the complete opposite, his family seemed wealthy, and it was only him and two women who were obviously his parents.

  
Wedding photos, they were young when they got married, and later, a child started appearing in the photos, a boy with dark hair and blue eyes and dimples.

  
He heard the front door open down stairs, shut just as quickly, and a few moments later the boy from the photos, now older and wearing a school uniform with a massive book bag on his back, climbed the stairs and went straight into the other bedroom. There was a _thunk_ as the book bag was dropped and a moment later the boy stepped out of the bedroom and stared at him.

  
“Hi,” the boy said, eyes wary behind big round glasses. Jim wondered if Pike and his husband were against the corrective vaccine. “Who are you?”

  
“Jim Kirk,” Jim replied. “Who are you?”

  
“Simon Pike,” Simon said slowly. “What are you doing in my house?”

  
“Your dad is letting me stay a couple of days,” Jim told him. “He’s my academic adviser.”

  
Simon cocked his head to the side, then shrugged and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  
Jim shrugged and went downstairs. Pike was standing by the kitchen island talking to Boyce, quietly enough that he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  
“I met your kid,” he said, announcing his presence. “Which one of you is the dad?”

  
“I am,” they both said simultaneously.

  
“No, genetically,” Jim clarified.

  
The two shared a look. “I am,” they said again.

  
“Simon was born using cloning technology and combining our DNA,” Boyce explained as he began putting spaghetti, meatballs and sauce into individual plates. “Chris if you want to get changed before dinner you should do it now.”

  
Pike pushed off from the bench and disappeared upstairs. “Set these on the table would you, Cadet?” Boyce said, and handed him two filled plates.

  
Jim did as he was asked and helped Boyce set the table, a few minutes later Pike came back downstairs carrying Simon in a fireman’s hold over one shoulder. Pike was in jeans and socks and a faded Starfleet issue shirt with Yorktown across the chest and Simon was in blue pyjamas covered in old fashioned rocket ships and stars and moons in red, yellow and green. Simon’s hair was still damp from his shower.

  
Pike set Simon down and kissed his head before they all sat down to eat. Jim was next to Simon, across from Pike, who was next to Boyce.

  
The table could fit eight people, so they weren’t close together.

  
“How was school?” Boyce asked, and Jim realised the older man had either no idea how awkward everyone was feeling, or simply didn’t give a fuck.

  
“The teachers keep telling me I shouldn’t read ahead,” Simon answered. “But the stuff they’re teaching is boring and I’ve finished it already. Mr T’Shan wants to talk to you guys, too. Something about my academic credits?”

  
Pike and Boyce shared a look.

  
“Did you stay for Nicky’s soccer practice?” Boyce said, changing the subject. “His dad said he might be able to make it into an advanced junior team next season.”

  
“He’s _only_ the best player in the school, maybe even the district,” Simon replied, rolling his eyes. “He says he’ll probably go pro before I get into the Academy, I told him you have to be eighteen to go pro.”

  
“The Academy’s entrance age is eighteen too, you know,” Pike pointed out, almost smiling, and Simon shot him a look across the table.

  
“But they make exceptions, they made one for you when you were seventeen,” Simon said. “And I told you I’ll be on Command Track by the time I’m sixteen.”

  
Jim stared at the kid, the food in front of him forgotten. “You can’t make Command Track by sixteen,” he said.

  
“Can so,” Simon retorted childishly. “Grandpa Archer said I could, and he knows everything.”

  
Jim looked across the table at Pike and Boyce, hoping to see the look parents often gave their kids when they were encouraging pointless dreams and ambitions, but their faces were completely serious, even a spark of pride in Pike’s eyes.

”Cadet Kirk is on Command Track,” Pike said. “Kirk, why don’t you tell my son what he can expect in his first year at the Academy?”

There was an undertone in Pike’s voice that read “that’s an order” loud and clear, and Kirk talked about his lesson requirements, the hand to hand combat training, survival simulations, weapons training, political studies, xenolinguistics, and the work load required for every course.

”And if memory serves, it only gets harder,” Boyce said. “I think your Dad just about _died_  in his final year from his exams.”

“I probably would have without you, honey,” Pike replied mockingly.

The conversation drifted into Academy gossip and current events until dinner was finished; and PIke and Simon did the dishes and Boyce gave Jim a slightly more detailed tour of the house before returning to the living area on the opposite side of the first floor.

it was quite basic, with a television mounted above the fireplace, the lounge suite (gunmetal grey velvet) set up around it bookshelves and cabinets full of accolades and actual hardback novels and medical journals lining every spare wall between the windows, with a dark wood guitar and black grand piano in the far left corner from the French doors that lead inside the room.

Simon was sitting on one of the couches, nose buried in a book. “Simon,” Boyce called as they walked in. “Bed time.”

”Bed time?” Jim said incredulously. “It’s only...”

”Nine o’clock,” Boyce said, pointing at the clock on the wall. “Simon!”

Simon put his book down, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as he yawned and stumbled past them.

”Dad and I will be up in a minute to tuck you in,” Boyce told him.

”Mmkay,” Simon mumbled, heading up the stairs.

Upon realising the time, Jim felt the day begin to weigh down his body. He yawned.

Pike suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. “Head up to bed, I’ll wake you in the morning,” Pike said.

Jim nodded, and headed upstairs and into the bathroom for a shower.

He fell asleep in his briefs, hair still damp, listening to Pike’s muffled voice and a soft guitar from down the hall as he drifted off.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Phil was hunched over a pile of charts, blinking at the blurred words on the screen. He’d been at the hospital nearly seventy two hours after a multiple shuttle accident, and the adrenaline of the last three days was only just beginning to die down. He hadn’t felt this tired since Chris got himself blown up on the Yorktown and Phil had spent the next twelve hours pulling shrapnel out of his chest and gut.

The cup, double espresso with a shot of butterscotch and Irish cream, was shoved under his nose and he moaned, accepting the cup and swallowing half of it in one go. “Oh, I love you,” he breathed.

“Why don’t you go home, sir?” Leonard McCoy suggested. “You look like shit.”

“You’re not being very nice to me,” Phil muttered.

“You’ve always told me to be honest,” Len pointed out.

“To patients, not your boss,” Phil drank the rest of the coffee and threw the cup into the disposal unit, but missed and it bounced off the wall and landed too far away for him to care. “I can’t go home, I need to finish these charts.”

“I’ll do them,” Len insisted. “I watched you save the lives of twelve people in the last three days, also you’re drooling on the charts and I’m fairly sure if you don’t get some sleep soon I’ll be admitting you to this hospital.”

Phil looked at the younger man, in the last few months since Len had joined Starfleet as a Cadet he’d taken Len under his wing, and while that meant Len was quickly learning how to deal with the political side of Starfleet Medical, but a side effect of this was the Len had become tuned to his bullshit.

“You called my husband, didn’t you?” Phil accused.

“He’s waiting down in the lobby,” Len said with a smirk. “Don’t make me sedate you, Commander.”

Phil wanted to protest, he’d done longer shifts in worse conditions than this, but he thought of his husband, of falling into bed with Chris in his arms.

_Maybe I can get him to read some Jack London_ , he thought.

“Yeah, alright,” he conceded, and let Len escort him back to his office for his bag, then down to the lobby.

Chris was standing near the front door looking deliciously rumpled, soft dark jeans, untucked pinstripe shirt and warm brown sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I believe this is yours, Captain Pike?” Len said as they approached.

“Looks a little worse for wear to be my husband,” Chris teased, but reached out and tangled his fingers with Phil’s as soon as they were close enough. “But I think he’ll do. Thanks for getting him to come home, Dr McCoy.”

“He’s leaving me with all his charting,” Len retorted. “Trust me, if he hadn’t been about to collapse on the surgical floor I’d never have called you.”

Phil waved Len off, and the younger surgeon smirked and went back upstairs.

Chris pressed their foreheads together as Phil slumped against him. “Hi,” Chris murmured.

“Hi, yourself.”

Chris smelled like coffee and sugar and that cologne he only wears when off duty. He smelled like _Chris_ , which was stupid because Chris only ever smelled like Chris.

_God, I’m tired._

“Phil?” Chris said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“You were just _snoring_ ,” Chris sounded like he was about to laugh. “Come on, you can sleep in the flitter.”

He let Chris drag him to their flitter and folded into the passenger seat, having enough sense to put his seatbelt on as Chris went around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

He must have drifted off again, because they were suddenly home and Chris was helping him out of the car and up to their bedroom.

“You need to shower,” Chris informed him, unceremoniously helping him strip. “You smell like a hospital.”

“That’s because I work in one.”

Chris made a face, then shoved him into their shower and shut the bathroom door. The hot water woke him up just enough, and he washed his hair and scrubbed the smell of antiseptic from his skin.

He heard the door open again and Chris knocked on the shower screen. “C’mon,” he called, and Phil shut off the water and grabbed the towel Chris held out for him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He asked when he stepped out of the shower.

Chris grinned, bright and cheeky and dimpled. Phil’s chest ached with the brilliance of it. “Yeah,” the younger man said, blatantly ogling him.

A few minutes later Chris pushed him onto their bed, already turned down, kissed him and went to leave, but he grabbed Chris’ wrist and tugged him back. “Stay?” He asked.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Chris replied, but came willingly. He kicked off his shoes as he crawled under the sheets and tucked his head under Phil’s chin.

“Just until I fall asleep,” Phil replied, wrapping his arms around Chris’ chest.

Chris didn’t move for a long moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Alright.”

-

It was raining when Jim made it to the front door that lead up to Pike’s office. Actually it was pouring, and he was completely soaked down to the shirt he wore under his uniform.

Under the small shaded area in front of the building, Simon was hunched miserably, just as soaked as Jim felt he was.

“Hi, Jim,” Simon mumbled as Jim sat beside him. “I think Dad forgot he had to pick us up.”

“Does this happen a lot?” Jim asked, he didn’t think Pike and Boyce were the kind of parents who forgot their kid in the middle of a massive storm. He realised the kid was shivering and wrapped an arm around him.

Simon shook his head. “Last time Dad wasn’t allowed to leave a meeting with the Admirals and Papa was stuck in surgery,” he said. “But Number One came and got me, we went for ice cream.”

“Who’s-“

“Dad’s First Officer, but she’s in space,” Simon sighed. “Can you call him? I let Nicky borrow my communicator but he forgot to give it back.”

“Why didn’t you get a lift home with Nicky’s parents?” Jim asked.

“Nicky’s going to a soccer championship, they were leaving right after school. So can you call Dad? I think the batteries in my implants are going flat.”

Through the fine strands of dark hair, Jim could see small silver disks behind Simon’s ears, with dark wires and tiny blinking red lights. He’d been living with Simon for over two weeks now and had no idea the boy was deaf.

He pulled out his comm and flipped it open, the device sparked as he tried to contact Pike, crackled and shocked him hard enough that he dropped it with a shout.

He looked at Simon, who was looking as miserable as Jim felt as he started coughing. “I think we’ll have to walk home,” Simon said, sounding a little wheezy.

Jim frowned, then shucked his uniform jacket and wrapped it around Simon’s tiny body as he pulled him to his feet. “We can go see if your papa’s at the hospital, if not, then someone there can call your dad,” he suggested.

“Alright.”

Simon’s teeth were chattering by the time they got to the hospital, and the little blinking light on his implants had gone out completely, which Jim guessed meant he couldn’t hear anymore.

He pulled Simon up to the front desk. “I’m looking for Commander Boyce? I have his son,” he told the nurse.

Simon sneezed. _Oh, that’s not good._

The nurse typed something into her terminal. “Commander Boyce went home four hours ago,” she told them, and Simon started coughing. “Is he alright?”

“He was stuck in the storm,” Jim explained. “Can you get a blanket or something for him? He’s freezing.”

A dark haired doctor jogged over as Simon started coughing violently, wheezing in between as his face went from blue to purple and he clutched his chest.

“He’s having an asthma attack,” the doctor said, urgency in his tone. “Set up a bio-bed, _now_!”

The doctor scooped Simon up and Jim followed him and the nurse into the emergency room, where Simon was was placed on a bio-bed that started going ballistic once he was scanned. The doctor pulled a needle from a cabinet and injected it straight into Simon’s chest, for a moment the bio-bed and Simon seemed to calm down, and then Simon made that horrible gargling choking noise again and the doctor pressed on his throat again.

“Okay, his throat is swollen shut,” the doctor said. “Sir, I’m going to have to do a tracheotomy on your son. Please don’t panic.”

“He’s not my son,” Jim bit out.

“What?” The doctor pulled a scalpel from the cabinet. “Who’s-“

“He’s Commander Boyce’s son, Dr McCoy,” the nurse said. “I was just about to call-“

Jim cried out as Dr McCoy sliced into Simon’s throat, taking a plastic tube from the nurse and sliding it into the incision. He hooked a machine up to the tube and injected Simon with something else that caused his eyes to fall close.

“Call Captain Pike and Commander Boyce, and get me a medical history on the kid,” he ordered, and Jim only just noticed his southern drawl. He was handsome, dark hair and hazel eyes, dressed in silver blue scrubs that cadets on the medical track wore. Those hazel eyes fixed on him, then. “What were you doing with the Commander’s son?”

“I’m staying with Pike, he was supposed to pick me up from his office but he never showed. Simon was there when I arrived,” he explained. “He was shivering, and his implants were losing power. I just wanted to get him home before he got sick. Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

A nurse came over to them with a PADD and Dr McCoy looked through it as they walked towards the elevator. It was empty when they arrived and stepped in.

“It wasn’t your fault,” McCoy said. “The kid, uh, Simon Joshua Pike, has asthma, it was aggravated by the storm and the recent cold snaps we’ve been having. You did the right thing bringing him here…”

“Kirk,” Jim said. “Jim Kirk. I’m a Cadet, too.”

McCoy frowned, and then recognition dawned in his features. “You’re the jackass I sat next to in the shuttle!” He said.

Jim imagined the man in front of him scruffier and smelling of booze, sneering about how horrific flying and space is.

“Bones!” Jim said. “You’re the guy with the ex wife!”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” He said. “Leonard, by the way. Not Bones.”

Jim decided then and there that Leonard was the stupidest name he’d ever heard. “Nah, I’m gonna call you Bones,” he grinned, and then remembered why he was in this hospital and felt a chill run down his spine. “Is Simon gonna…you cut his _throat_ …”

“Nothing a dermal regenerator won’t be able to fix in an hour or two,” Bones told him. “I’m more worried about what Captain Pike and Phil are gonna do. Did you know the kid had _Endorin Pox_ when he was an infant? Shredded his immune system. If my kid survived that I’d never let them outside of a clean room for the rest of their lives.”

Jim knew enough about medicine to know that _Endorin Pox_ was one of those diseases you didn’t fuck with. “Explains the glasses and the implants,” he said, and the elevator opened onto the recovery wing. Bones showed him to Simon’s room, where and IV had already been inserted while the machine still breathed for him.

“You can stay,” Bones said, gesturing to one of the chairs in the room. “Kid’s gonna be unconscious for a couple of hours yet.”

“Do you know if his parents…”

“I’d say Chapel’s already called them,” Bones clapped him on the shoulder. “You did the right thing, Kirk, whether you brought him here or not he was going to have that attack. If he hadn’t been here he would have died.”

-

Chris woke to the sound of a comm beeping and vibrating on the bedside table and reached for it blindly, warm and content in his husband’s arms. His fingers closed around the infuriating little device and flicked it open.

“Pike,” he groaned.

_“Captain Pike, this is Junior Nurse Chapel from Starfleet General,”_ the woman on the other end. _“Your son was brought in ten minutes ago suffering from a severe asthma attack. He’s currently been taken up to recovery.”_

Chris felt his heart drop into his stomach and he shot out of bed, realising he’d fallen asleep with Phil.

“We’ll be right there,” he said. “What…what room?”

_“Recovery 703, Captain Pike. Dr McCoy wants you to know that he’ll make a full recovery before tomorrow.”_

The nurse ended the comm and Chris stared at Phil’s sleeping form for a moment, and then threw the comm in his hand directly at Phil’s forehead.

“Ow!” Phil shot upright, hand pressed to his head. “What the _fuck_ , Chris?”

“Simon’s at the hospital!” Chris shouted, pulling on his boots. “Because I forgot to pick him up!”

“He probably went there looking for me,” Phil muttered. “Why’d you throw your comm at me?”

Chris reached for his coat and pulled it on, shoving his hair back from his face. “He had an asthma attack,” Chris snapped. “Because I forgot to pick him up, because I was in bed. With you!”

Phil struggled out of bed, got his legs tangled and fell flat on his face with a _thud_. “We need to get to the hospital,” Phil said, and dressed quickly in jeans and boots and that ugly orange flannel Chris kept trying to get him to throw out.

“Put on a coat,” Chris said absently as he headed downstairs. He grabbed his keys as he passed the foyer. Phil stumbled after him, wearing a black canvas coat with a fleece collar.

They were at the hospital in minutes, and Chris parked as close as he could, but it was still a fair ways to the hospital and they were soaked when they got to the front door.

“Recovery 703,” Chris said. He didn’t go to the hospital very often, and let Phil lead the way.

Leonard McCoy caught them as they stepped out onto the Recovery floor.

“Captain, Commander,” McCoy said, stopping them before they could head towards Simon’s room. “You should know what happened before you go in there.”

Chris’ heart clenched, and he felt thirty years old again watching his infant son live hour to hour in an incubator, covered in a blistering yellow rash with blood leaking from his eyes and ears.

“Simon’s fine, he’ll make a full recovery once he takes all the IV medication,” McCoy explained. “After that we’ll start on a dermal regeneration to heal his tracheotomy.”

“ _A tracheotomy?_ ” Phil shouted.

“When he came in I gave him a dose of steroids to stop the attack, but he had a severe allergic reaction and went into anaphylactic shock,” McCoy said. “I had to get a tube in so he could breathe.”

“You’ve taken his weakened immune system into account?” Phil asked. “An infection could-“

“We have,” McCoy assured them. “You’re very lucky Kirk was taking him here in the first place, if they’d stayed in the rain I doubt we would have been able to treat him in time.”

_Kirk?_

“Shit,” Chris muttered as he followed McCoy to Simon’s room. “I was supposed to pick Kirk up after I got Simon.”

Simon looked small and pale and fragile in the bio-bed, the tube in his throat looked too large for his neck, and there was dried blood around it.

Kirk was sitting at Simon’s bedside, only half dried and miserable, his uniform jacket missing.

He shot to his feet as they walked in, and Chris immediately went to Simon’s side and gripped his hand, then used his free hand to brush back his hair. He felt tears sting behind his eyes and swallowed thickly. _I’m so sorry_ , he choked on the words as they tried to rise from his throat.

He felt his world narrow down to the rise of Simon’s chest, the steady beep of the bio-bed readouts, and tried not to liken this situation to the weeks he spent in the very hospital twelve years ago. Some of the worst weeks of his life.

“Thank you,” He heard Phil say. “Len said you saved his life.”

“We came here looking for you, I just thought he was getting a cold when he started coughing,” Kirk said quietly. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“Len said we can take him home once he finishes the IV bag.”

Chris closed his eyes to stop the tears that were beginning to blur his vision and pressed his lips to Simon’s hand.

He didn’t move until Phil’s fingers uncurled his own from Simon’s. “They’re bringing dermal regenerator in,” his husband said, and Chris realised hours had passed since they arrived at the hospital. The storm had died down to a gentle shower and Simon’s IV bag was completely empty.

McCoy walked in with the machine and set it up at Simon’s bedside, then removed the tube from Simon’s neck and pressed the regenerator against the gaping hole in his son’s throat.

It was only a few minutes, but they stretched on like days as the wound healed itself, and then finally McCoy removed the machine and looked at Simon’s bio-bed readouts.

“Ah, he’s waking up,” the doctor said. “I’ll get the discharge paperwork.”

Chris went right back to Simon’s side, and a few moments passed before cobalt eyes blinked open and Simon shifted in the bed.

“Simon?” Chris said gently, touching his arm.

Simon jumped and squinted around the room at them.

“His glasses,” Phil said. “Where-“

“Here,” Kirk stepped up to the bed and slid Simon’s glasses onto his face. “I, uh, the nurse gave me his stuff before you got here.”

Simon blinked at them, and the clumsily raised his hands and signed _Implants_.

“What does that mean?” Kirk asked.

“His implants,” Chris rasped. “He can’t hear…”

“They went flat,” Kirk said. “He couldn’t hear when we got to the hospital.”

Chris sighed and signed _not charged_ and Simon slumped back onto the bed, and then reached for Chris’ hand.

Two hours later, Chris put Simon’s implants into their charging station and turned around to tuck Simon in. He put Archimedes, a blue stuffed-and-bean filled dragon, under the covers beside Simon and kissed his forehead, signing _I love you_ as blue eyes drifted shut.

Quietly, he stepped out of the room and shut the door.

Kirk was standing in the hallway, looking as tired as Chris felt and avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not going to kick me out, are you?” Kirk asked.

Chris stared at him. “Why the hell would I do that?” He asked, baffled.

“I dragged your kid through the rain because I didn’t want to wait for you to show up,” Kirk said. “And he got his throat cut open because-“

Chris stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Kirk, hugging him tightly as he felt the younger man stiffen against him. “You,” He said. “Are the reason I still have my son. As far as I’m concerned you can stay here as long as you want.”

Hesitantly, Kirk returned his embrace and Chris released him when he realised the other man was getting a little uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” He said, holding Kirk’s bright blue gaze. “I mean it. You did the right thing, Jim.”

He went upstairs to get out of his damp clothes, and didn’t see the smile that briefly lit up Kirk’s face.”

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the beginning, if you want to chat my Discord is Myserie#1483 and I'm always online!


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